Lirik Lagu 4:20 - Method Man
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(feat. Carlton Fisk, RZA, Streetlife)
[Intro: RZA (Method Man)]Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (roll it up niggaz)Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (4:20, y'all, it's time, it's time)Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (it's been a long time for this manNiggaz been sleeping on the kid, man, everybody got some sideway shit to say)Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (Carlo! Know what I'm saying, man? Yeah)
[Method Man]Fast or slow mo, oh no, Meth done made a killingCall the po-po, oh niggaz is squealing, oh, y'all ain't feelingNiggaz no more, the bigger they are, harder they go thoughGood pussy put a hump in my back like QuasimotoHah, my sex ain't homo, season vet, hold the adoboGot rappers on that low carb diet, y'all can't get no doughI keep a low pro, file, excuse me as I get smoked outPut hands on these niggaz, then put the roach outGo head, I'm wishing you would, ask if it's goodMan, this Tarzan shit in the woods, my shit is hood, bitchThat means I'm hood rich, telling you liesStraight out the pull-pit, it's like Merrill Lynch I'm on that bullshitReal spit, money come first, and even worseYou need all your toes & fingers to count up what I'm worth, trickSo when I blow a smoke cloud in your face, just take a hintDick, you crowding my space, it's Mr. Meth, pa
[Chorus: Carlton Fisk]It's 4:20, roll up, nigga getting smo-ked outNo seeds, California weed have you choked outNo doubt, roll up, which rims spoked out4:20 mean you either roll up or roll out
[RZA]Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke itRoll that shit, light that shit, smoke it
[Method Man]So on and so on, I flow onPower to our people, get your smoke onAnd I'm so gone, off, that sour dieselHard to hold on, but hold on, it's like I'm Pretty ToneyWith that robe, got terrorist shook, because I'm so bombThe hood, put, me in position, I'm in the kitchenWith that cook book, the service I'm giving, birds they visionNot a good look, told ya my nigga, Tical deliverHook or crook, lots of asses to kick, wish I had a bigger footYeah, taking it there, hating who careY'all stay out my mental, I got killas waiting in hereTo get you, as I sharpen my pencils, tear apart instrumentalsFuck it, y'all niggaz is pussy, so is the dick that sent youRZA, we done it again, Co-D occassionHere's to short skirts and Ol' Dirt McGirt, okay, thenLet's get it popping, like it ain't nothing to get it poppingThe big and rotten's the city, too good to be forgotten
[Chorus 2X]
[Streetlife]The rap game won't like meYou can tell that a nigga is shiestyIf I die, my second born'll be like meSlide dick to your wifeyNever know your baby boy just might beQuick to rob a jack, he's so icey, stay dressed to killFrom the Hill, never ran, never willAttitude, like, fuck you still, I see you missing the pointThis is not a rap song, you get clapped onBullets break the bone, like the joint, call you out your nameDisrespect ya moms, spit on your dameGo public, then, shit on your fame, you overlooking the factWhere you from, is where we atAnd y'all don't want no, parts, in that thatCaught your verse for sale, but real niggaz don't shoot & tellWe'd rather do the time and rot in the cell
[Carlton Fisk]The inner outer state, bi-coastal smokerInhale, Cali piff with a swift of glaucomaBlack jeans, black Timbs, black Benz roasterSmoke rise, out the sun roof when I roll upVerrazano, with no relation to GravanoCarlo, shots are hollow, still cop a bottleAnd pour some out, moment of silence, then I swallowI'm still alive, and still the sun'll come out tomorrowShine shine shine, and grind, cuz it's money on my mindAnd I'm moving like my life is on the lineFor the bullshit, I really got no time, a full clipReally gon' let ya niggaz know what's on my mindWhen ya getting out of line, have them choppers lit upYou won't need a camera phone to get the pictureChalk down, tape around, body bag zipped upCarlo Verrazano, you can call me mister
[Chorus]
[Intro: RZA (Method Man)]Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (roll it up niggaz)Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (4:20, y'all, it's time, it's time)Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (it's been a long time for this manNiggaz been sleeping on the kid, man, everybody got some sideway shit to say)Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke it (Carlo! Know what I'm saying, man? Yeah)
[Method Man]Fast or slow mo, oh no, Meth done made a killingCall the po-po, oh niggaz is squealing, oh, y'all ain't feelingNiggaz no more, the bigger they are, harder they go thoughGood pussy put a hump in my back like QuasimotoHah, my sex ain't homo, season vet, hold the adoboGot rappers on that low carb diet, y'all can't get no doughI keep a low pro, file, excuse me as I get smoked outPut hands on these niggaz, then put the roach outGo head, I'm wishing you would, ask if it's goodMan, this Tarzan shit in the woods, my shit is hood, bitchThat means I'm hood rich, telling you liesStraight out the pull-pit, it's like Merrill Lynch I'm on that bullshitReal spit, money come first, and even worseYou need all your toes & fingers to count up what I'm worth, trickSo when I blow a smoke cloud in your face, just take a hintDick, you crowding my space, it's Mr. Meth, pa
[Chorus: Carlton Fisk]It's 4:20, roll up, nigga getting smo-ked outNo seeds, California weed have you choked outNo doubt, roll up, which rims spoked out4:20 mean you either roll up or roll out
[RZA]Roll that shit, light that shit, smoke itRoll that shit, light that shit, smoke it
[Method Man]So on and so on, I flow onPower to our people, get your smoke onAnd I'm so gone, off, that sour dieselHard to hold on, but hold on, it's like I'm Pretty ToneyWith that robe, got terrorist shook, because I'm so bombThe hood, put, me in position, I'm in the kitchenWith that cook book, the service I'm giving, birds they visionNot a good look, told ya my nigga, Tical deliverHook or crook, lots of asses to kick, wish I had a bigger footYeah, taking it there, hating who careY'all stay out my mental, I got killas waiting in hereTo get you, as I sharpen my pencils, tear apart instrumentalsFuck it, y'all niggaz is pussy, so is the dick that sent youRZA, we done it again, Co-D occassionHere's to short skirts and Ol' Dirt McGirt, okay, thenLet's get it popping, like it ain't nothing to get it poppingThe big and rotten's the city, too good to be forgotten
[Chorus 2X]
[Streetlife]The rap game won't like meYou can tell that a nigga is shiestyIf I die, my second born'll be like meSlide dick to your wifeyNever know your baby boy just might beQuick to rob a jack, he's so icey, stay dressed to killFrom the Hill, never ran, never willAttitude, like, fuck you still, I see you missing the pointThis is not a rap song, you get clapped onBullets break the bone, like the joint, call you out your nameDisrespect ya moms, spit on your dameGo public, then, shit on your fame, you overlooking the factWhere you from, is where we atAnd y'all don't want no, parts, in that thatCaught your verse for sale, but real niggaz don't shoot & tellWe'd rather do the time and rot in the cell
[Carlton Fisk]The inner outer state, bi-coastal smokerInhale, Cali piff with a swift of glaucomaBlack jeans, black Timbs, black Benz roasterSmoke rise, out the sun roof when I roll upVerrazano, with no relation to GravanoCarlo, shots are hollow, still cop a bottleAnd pour some out, moment of silence, then I swallowI'm still alive, and still the sun'll come out tomorrowShine shine shine, and grind, cuz it's money on my mindAnd I'm moving like my life is on the lineFor the bullshit, I really got no time, a full clipReally gon' let ya niggaz know what's on my mindWhen ya getting out of line, have them choppers lit upYou won't need a camera phone to get the pictureChalk down, tape around, body bag zipped upCarlo Verrazano, you can call me mister
[Chorus]
